


Yoga To Be Joking

by mdashes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Autofellatio, M/M, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdashes/pseuds/mdashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tags explain everything, I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yoga To Be Joking

**Author's Note:**

> This is very silly, and a real physical therapist would be disgusted. Do not try at home. Googling the yoga poses when you are finished reading is highly recommended.
> 
> I'm so sorry about the title. So, so sorry.

"It's just, like," Harry continues, frowning down at his glass, "my dick is really big, you know? I ought to be able to do it." 

A stunned silence falls over the table, and Harry winces. A good upbringing makes him honest and alcohol makes him talkative.

"Wait," Liam says. "What?" 

"Harry only does yoga because he's not flexible enough to suck himself off," Louis paraphrases helpfully. 

"That's not why I do it _now_ ," Harry says plaintively. "There's lots of benefits to yoga. Gets your body and your spirit in touch with one another."

Zayn looks unimpressed. Liam looks bemused. Bemused and very, very drunk. Louis looks gleeful, in, like, a really evil way, which makes Harry anxious.

Niall's building a pyramid out of empty pint glasses.

"I'll bet," Louis says.

\--

Okay, Harry might have started copying flexibility sequences on YouTube when he was seventeen and horny and desperate to curl himself over those extra few centimeters separating his lips from the tip of his straining dick. 

Harry's always been pretty into having things in his mouth, is all, loves it when girls get themselves off and then push their fingers past his lips so he can lick off the taste of them, or a couple times, memorably, suck them clean of his own come. Caroline liked to do that. It may have been what started this whole thing.

And he's aware he's got a great mouth. Sometimes, not that often, he gets distracted by it in the mirror, has to stare and rub his fingers over the seam of his lips, pinch at his bottom lip until it's a bit redder than before. It's not _that_ weird. He just knows it would feel amazing on his cock.

That phase was ages ago, though. He takes yoga seriously now. He's an adult. He has a _group_ that he goes to when he's in London and, like, a guru and everything.

Anyway, he's pretty confident at this point that it's not gonna happen. He can kinda, like, touch it with his tongue, but that just gets him frustrated and worked up, and not in the good way. He's accepted it and moved on, so he's not really sure why he brought up it in front of everyone. It's fine, though. He's told them much worse.

\--

Harry thinks he's the only one up. The sun streaming in through the window of their hotel suite is still early morning soft, and it's quiet and peaceful in a way that it never is, really, when the rest of them are about.

He starts with some slow, easy poses to loosen his body, then works his way up to the ones that are still giving him trouble. He's very creative with his yoga routines, really gets into the flow of things. It just works for him, feeling the hum in his muscles and the steady pace of his own breath.

"Hey," Niall says, behind him.

Harry's transitioning from Tree Pose into a Half Lotus Toe Balance, concentrating hard on finding his center of gravity. He squawks and falls backwards onto his arse.

"Fuck," he says. "Jesus, Niall."

Niall looks at him curiously and helps himself to a piece of toast from the remains of Harry's room service breakfast.

"You're so weird," Niall says.

"It's calming," Harry says, defensively. "It helps me wake up."

"Hm," Niall says, shoving the rest of the toast into his mouth. "Show me how to do some."

Harry's freshly showered and wearing a clean pair of pants, hair curling up at the ends as it dries. He's already got today's outfit laid out on his bed. He was feeling very productive, in fact, very one with the movement of the universe until Niall made him embarrass himself.

Niall's rumpled, in a hoodie and thin, loose sweatpants, hair flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He's got crumbs around his mouth. He looks like he could use some spiritual guidance.

"Alright," Harry says.

 --

They're in separate hotel rooms today, but Harry isn't surprised to hear the click of a keycard in his door. He's gotten into a habit of getting up early, lately, because it helps him to have a routine while they're on tour, and by now everyone's figured out his room is the place to be if you're awake and bored at 8:30 in the morning.

It's Niall.

"Hey," Harry says from the floor, where he's sat completely naked in a Seated Spinal Twist.

"Yoga?" Niall says, unperturbed. He sits down across from Harry, puts down his bag of minibar cashews, and settles easily into a Cow Face Pose.

"You've been Googling," Harry accuses, switching his pose to stretch his back in the opposite direction.

Niall grins.

\--

It becomes a bit of a thing. After the first few times, it's clear that Niall's a quick and enthusiastic study, and Harry starts texting him before he does his morning routine.

He choreographs some basic pose sequences for them to do together, and starts ordering two breakfasts every morning. Niall eats half of Harry's anyway, but it's nice. 

It makes sense that they fall into such an easy pattern. Niall's great to have around because he just always... fits. He can get as loud as Louis when they're joking around on the bus, but he listens quietly when one of them comes to him with a problem. He'll have his guitar out to back one of them up on a singalong before anyone even thinks to ask. He'll smoke a joint if it's offered to him and get plastered at a bar if it's what the rest of them are doing, but it never seems like he's being anything but unabashedly himself. The rest of them get moody sometimes. Niall doesn't, really. He's a treasure, and he knows exactly how to become a part of this _thing_ that's always been just Harry's, something to have to himself, without making Harry feel like anything's been taken away from him.

\--

They're not really dressed for yoga, but they were rushed this morning, getting out for an early interview, and this is the first chance they've gotten. Harry's jeans, in particular, are far too tight to get into a proper lunge, but they're gamely working their way through a few poorly executed Sun Salutations in the TV studio's green room anyway. It's the thought that counts, really, and Harry's privately amused by Niall's bare knees and the way his tiny arse looks in jeans, even though Harry keeps having to wiggle his hips to keep his balls from getting caught in a weird position.

Zayn wanders in, puffy-eyed like he's just fallen asleep in the makeup chair again, and immediately cracks up. "Trying to up your masturbation game as well, Niall?"

Harry groans, straightens up to flip Zayn off.

"Huh?" Niall says, upside down in a Standing Forward Bend, blinking up at Zayn through the space between his skinny calves. "Oh. Nah. I've always been able to do that."

"Really?" Zayn says. "Sick." He collapses into one of the armchairs and closes his eyes.

"Legend," Niall agrees, moving into Downward Dog.

"What," Harry says.

\--

The interview isn't one of Harry's best. He's a bit off, can't really think of smooth answers to the questions, but he doesn't want to be rude or, like, not participate. He throws out a few tangential observations and makes some comments that he can tell the rest of the band find odd, because they're exchanging looks with each other that clearly read _typical Harry_. The interviewer is charmed, at least.

Later, Louis throws a water bottle at his head and he fails to notice until it hits him right between the eyes.

He's not, like, trying to think about it, but he's not trying _not_ to think about it either. Maybe he'd misheard or, like, missed some context, some sort of in-joke with Zayn, and Niall wasn't actually implying that he had, you know. Sucked his own cock.

He has to ask about it doesn't want to do it in front of the rest of the boys. He knows he'll have a chance tomorrow morning when Niall shows up in his room for yoga and breakfast, same as always, but Harry's off-balance, full of weird, anxious energy, and he doesn't want to wait that long.

He jumps at his chance when Niall begs off their vague evening plans of beer and TV in Liam's room to go practice guitar. He doesn't seemed bothered when Harry follows him. He never is.

"Can you really do it?" Harry says, when they've gotten to Niall's room and Niall's bent over his guitar case, undoing the latches.

"Yeah," Niall says. "Absolutely. That's not even that much food. I've had six burgers in an evening before! Just because Louis doesn't _eat—_ "

"No," Harry says. "Um, this morning. You told Zayn...?" He doesn't usually dance around things like this.

"Ohhh," Niall says, standing, guitar in hand. "Get me own cock in my mouth."

"Yeah," Harry says.

"Yeah," Niall echoes.

Harry takes a slow breath and lets it out, like he does when he meditates, before he speaks. "What's it like?"

Niall looks contemplative. "It's good? Way different from having someone else do it. It's not like I do it all the time, I—"

"Show me," Harry blurts, interrupting.

Niall gives him an incredulous look, then bursts into laughter, giggles so hard he snorts a bit.

"Good one, Harry," he says, when he's composed himself, even though Harry's just been standing there in silence, hasn't cracked a smile, and it wouldn't've been a funny joke anyway, in Harry's opinion.

It's an out, anyway, and Harry should really play along, change the subject and let Niall chalk it up to Harry's weird sense of humor. He found out what he wanted to know, really. It's just not enough. He can imagine this eating at him for the rest of the tour, making things weird, screwing up this nice new thing they've been sharing together. His head is swirling with a muddled up mixture of jealousy and curiosity and he just wants to _see._

"No, I mean," he says, "I'm serious. I believe you. I just wanna see how you do it."

"Oh," Niall says. He's still a bit out of breath. "Uh. Right now?"

It's not a no.

"Yeah?" Harry says hopefully.

"Sure," Niall says. "Why not." He carefully puts the guitar back into its case and flops onto his back on the bed.

Niall is great.

Harry watches him curls his legs up and over until his arse is up above his head, his legs resting over his shoulders. It's a nice view. Once he's gotten settled, he cranes his neck to look over at Harry. "Like, is this what you wanted to see?"

Harry hesitates. 

"Or..." Niall continues, fingers coming up to toy with the button of his jeans, eyes fixed on Harry's like he's trying to gauge his reaction. 

"Yeah," Harry says. "Go on. Wanna watch _._ "

"Oh," Niall says. "Good, I kind of fancied a go after you got me thinking about it."

Harry can't really see what he's doing too well from this vantage point, but he hears the noise of Niall's zipper, and he walks a little further around the side of the bed so he can watch as Niall squeezes and tugs at his cock, free hand gripped tight around his own thigh.

"Okay," Niall says after a minute, letting go of his cock. He gets both hands on his arse instead, dragging it closer, and leans up to fit his lips around the tip of his cock, sucking for a moment and then letting it slip away, more of a kiss than anything.

"Easier this way than, like, sitting down," he says, conversationally, dick still not an inch from his face. "More leverage."

"Don't tease," Harry says, and wonders if Niall can hear the way his voice has gone all strained and throaty. Niall laughs a little and opens his mouth for his cock again.

This time he takes in a little more, lips catching just underneath the ridge of the head, and he keeps at it, hollowing his cheeks, his whole body rocking to work his cock in and out of his mouth in shallow, constrained motions.

He seems really preoccupied. Harry watches his throat as he swallows and takes a step closer without meaning to.

Niall's wearing a sleeveless tee that draws attention to the flex of his biceps. It's falling down over his abs, as well, exposing the line of hair leading from his bellybutton to the dark brown curls peeking through his undone fly. He makes this look easy.

Harry wants to ask how long it usually takes him to get off like this, but he doesn't really want to interrupt. It doesn't seem polite. 

After a while, Niall pulls off his cock with an audible pop, letting one hand fall to the bed and bringing the other one down to jack himself with slow, lazy strokes. "Just gotta breathe for a sec," he says, almost apologetic. There's sweat shining at his hairline and in the hollows of his armpits. 

"You close?" Harry says.

"Getting there," Niall says agreeably, pushing his hand into his jeans to squeeze at his balls.

The next time he pulls his mouth away, it's with a wet gasp, a line of saliva clinging to the head of his cock, and he jerks himself off with purpose, fast and tight and shallow until he comes.

"Fuck," he says, as the first pulse of it hits his face. "Ah, shit."

He gets some over his chin and a neat line of it across his cheek, and very narrowly misses getting himself in the eye.

"Ugh," he says finally with a faint laugh, wiping his face with the back of his hand. It mostly just smears things around.

Harry's not sure how long he just stands there, mouth open, blinking slowly to clear his head, but after a while Niall uncurls himself with a groan, wipes the last bit of come off his mostly-soft cock with his thumb and tucks it back into his jeans.

Harry feels like he should say something. He clears his throat. "Wow. I'll just go grab you some tissues, then. 

\--

He manages to stick around for a bit while Niall plays some songs, which is an amazing feat of self-control, and even, to Niall's delight, throws out a "hang on, that one's an E chord, right?" that happens to be correct.

"Think I might turn in early," he says, when he can't take it anymore, staring blankly at Niall's hands as he strums a familiar pattern. 

"Kay," Niall says, and Harry hesitates in the doorway.

"Um, thanks?" he adds.

"No problem, mate," Niall says easily, and Harry bolts.

He gets off as soon as he gets back to his hotel room, forehead pressed into the pillows as he fucks his achingly hard cock into his hand. Afterwards, he scrolls through Twitter with his jeans still unzipped, pants around his thighs, and then pulls himself off again, slower this time, then once more before bed.

Things aren't weird with Niall because it's _Niall_ , who's never been anything but comfortable with the four of them. They meet every morning as usual, and Harry does a spectacular job of not making things awkward, though that may only be because he's always been very practical when it comes to dealing with morning wood and gets all of his thinking about Niall's dick and his mouth and his arse over and done with before he has to look him in the eyes. 

It's not so easy later in the day—because Harry's got a busy schedule and he can't wank _all the time—_ when he's on the bus watching Niall suck at a fingernail he's bitten down too low, or when Harry sticks his tongue into the hollow of his cheek and raises his eyebrows at Niall on stage and Niall cracks up and licks his lips exaggeratedly.

He skirts the issue in private, too, manages to go a few days without trying anything fancy, until the stars align and he's alone on a rare full day off, no travel or anything, and just tipsy enough to think it's a good idea to try again.

 _It's okay_ , he thinks serenely, _if I don't manage it I can still come on my face_ , just before something cramps up in his lower back, making him roll over onto his side and clutch at his knees.

"Owww," he says.

\-- 

Harry tries to keep up the next morning, he does, but he gives up a pose and a half in, flopping back onto the carpet with a pained noise.

"Hungover?" Niall says, even though he knows full well that Harry only had three beers last night.

"Oh," Harry says. "I, uh, kind of messed up my back. I'll just... lie here and give you pointers?"

"What the fuck, Harry," Niall says. "You shoulda said something."

"I just did," Harry says.

"What happened?"

"Slept on it funny," Harry says. "Pulled a muscle or summat."

"Oh," Niall says. "You wanna borrow a heating pad?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Harry says politely.

"Here, c'mon. I know some tricks."

"I'm okay, Niall, you don't need to be a mum about it."

"Get _up_ ," Niall says.

Harry gets up.

"Go lie on your front," Niall says, nodding at Harry's bed.

"Love it when you boss me around, Niall," Harry sasses, but he obeys.

Niall sits down next to him and spreads his palms at the base of Harry's spine, rucking up the hem of his thermal shirt.

"Tell me when I get to the bit you strained," he says, rubbing slow circles up Harry's back.

"Yeah," Harry says, after a moment. "There."

Niall hums in acknowledgement, pressing his thumbs hard into the muscle until Harry groans. 

"You should do this, like, professionally," Harry says enthusiastically. 

"Already got a job," Niall says.

"Oh. Right," Harry says, and then, " _ohh."_

Harry tunes Niall out as he rambles on about his physical therapist and lets himself relax into the bed. His back has stopped hurting by the time Niall's finished with him. In fact, he's not even sure he has a back anymore. His nerve endings are all confused.

"You good?" Niall says. 

"Gonna take a nap," Harry mumbles into the pillow. There's hair caught in his mouth, and his dick feels heavy and sensitive, like one good shove of his hips into the mattress could get him the rest of the way to pound-nails hard. He wonders sleepily if the view of his arse is any good from where Niall's sitting. 

"Catch ya later," Niall says.

\--

When he wakes up, he finds that Niall's sent him an email with links to ten different lists of yoga poses for back pain on websites like _Women's Health Magazine_.

Niall keeps asking how he's feeling, too. Like, four or five times a day.

Harry doesn't deserve it, is the thing. He's pretty sure Niall shouldn't be coddling him through what ought to be a memorable life lesson in not thinking with his dick.

\--

It's a week before Niall lets Harry do anything much more taxing than a Child's Pose, which is ridiculous. Harry feels fine, and he tells Niall so, but Niall doesn't fuck around when it comes to joint and muscle injuries, apparently. He keeps telling Harry he's likely to fuck his back up twice as bad if it's not completely healed. In Harry's private opinion, backs and knees have practically nothing in common. In Harry's private opinion, also, Niall is not a doctor.

Finally—

"You're _sure_ you're 100% better?"

"M'sure," Harry says around a mouthful of fruit salad. He's so ready to get back into the swing of things. His guru would be disappointed in his lack of discipline, probably, even though it's Niall's fault.

"Okay," Niall concedes. "You gotta tell me something, though."

"Yeah?"

"How did you really hurt your back?" Niall says knowingly, too knowingly.

Harry pushes a grape around his bowl. He feels betrayed, honestly. Louis weasels out embarrassing secrets—paying special attention to _Harry's_ embarrassing secrets, Harry often feels—like it's his job. It can just be assumed that Zayn knows everything. Liam's pretty slow, sometimes, but when he figures something out he always wants to _talk_ about it. Niall, though. Niall's the one guy you can always count on to remain oblivious when you want him to be oblivious. Harry doesn't even think he has to pretend not to know stuff. He's just so in tune with the rest of the band that he knows when not to pick at things.

"Harry?" Niall says.

"I—" Harry says. It comes out a little bit hoarse. He swallows. "It looked really hot."

"Ahaha," Niall says. "Thought so."

"Hey," Harry says, indignant. "Lucky guess."

"Did you manage to actually get it in your mouth? Before you, you know, hurt yourself?"

"No," Harry admits regretfully.

Niall sets his fork down. "You're sure you're feeling better?" he says, a perpetually broken record that's just apparently skipped back to the point before they started discussing Harry's hopeless propensity for sex accidents.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I swear." Harry says, a bit louder than he means to, and immediately feels bad. "Not that this hasn't been really sweet of you."

Niall rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "You done eating?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "You can have the rest."

Niall ignores the tray Harry's just shoved at him. "Okay. Okay. Get naked and show me what you were trying to do."

" _What?_ " Harry says. 

"Come on. Let's figure this out." 

"It's too early for this," Harry complains, but he kind of owes Niall. Like, he'd have more room to protest if he'd never asked Niall to do the exact same thing. He stands to take off his pants and kicks them away obediently, twisting his back to loosen it, and then lies back on the bed and lifts his hips up to curl his legs over himself like he'd seen Niall do. 

"Harry," Niall says. "You can't very well reach your dick if it's not hard, mate."

"Um," Harry says, freezing with his arse in midair.

"Go on," Niall says, "I don't mind. It's nothing I haven't heard before, anyway."

Harry uncurls himself and, after a moment of deliberation, licks sloppily over the palm of his hand, not sure why he closes his eyes as he gets it around his dick. He doesn't really _mean_ to think about the other day, and it seems almost rude, with Niall right there, but it's all he's been getting off to for the past couple weeks, so it's, like, habit, remembering the practiced way he fucked into his mouth and how his stomach tensed before he came. The rush, afterwards, when Harry just couldn't stop staring at his lips and got away with it, somehow. The details have gotten well-worn and possibly exaggerated, but it gets him there just the same, has his cock fattening up nice and responsive in his hand. He opens his eyes to find Niall staring, cheeks flushed, and gives it one last indulgent stroke for luck.

"Okay," Niall says, "try again?"

Harry gets settled in this time, spine only protesting a bit when he rolls back into in a poor imitation of a Plow Pose. Seeing his cock at this angle has only ever led to grief, but he likes the look of it, thick and flushed and pretty, framed by his laurel tattoos. He bites at his lip, licks slowly over the indent left by his teeth. It's hard to relax, but he tries to let gravity pull his hips down to where he wants them.

"I can't," he says, after a moment.

Niall's standing over him now, looking at him thoughtfully. Harry knows he looks stupid, twisted up and pouting, cock in his face like this.

"You've almost got it," Niall says. "Just need a little more support, I think." He spreads a warm hand over Harry's back, and Harry's skin tingles pleasantly. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" 

"Uh," Harry says. "Will do." 

Niall just, like, folds him over, just like that. It doesn't hurt. At least, Harry's pretty sure it doesn't hurt. He's not sure he'd notice because it's _enough_ , just enough to feel his cock skate over his lips, and then he loses it. He whimpers in frustration.

"Hey," Niall says. "Shh, it's okay. We've got this." He grabs Harry's cock to steady it, feeds it back to him as Harry opens his mouth for it eagerly.

And _oh_ , this is what Harry's been missing out on. He sucks gently at first, gets a feel for it, and holds back a moan because Niall's not looking for a show, doesn't need to know how badly Harry needs this. 

"Nice," Niall says. "Good, innit?" He adjusts his grip on Harry's dick and pulls the foreskin back so Harry can suckle at the sensitive head and rub the flat of his tongue over the ridge of it. The muscles in Harry's thighs tense, his body all wound up with nowhere to go.

"Are you sure your back is okay?" Niall asks, after Harry's really started getting into it, and Harry tries to give him an exasperated look. "You shouldn't be in this position for very long."

Harry hums an assent.

"I mean it," Niall says. "Not the time to impress anyone with your stamina, or whatever."

Harry hums again, mostly because the vibration feels amazing.

"Like, um. Would it help if I talked you through it?"

Niall lets up a bit so Harry can answer, drops his cock so it falls back against Harry's belly.

"Yeah," Harry pants. "Please. Feels so good."

"Fuck," Niall says, and brings Harry's cock back up to nudge at his lips. "Knew you'd be able to," he adds, as Harry explores the slit of it with his tongue. "I might be more bendy but you—Jesus, look at your cock." 

Harry doesn't look at his cock, because cross-eyed isn't a great look on him, but he knows what Niall means. It's a decent size. Most people who see him naked and hard feel the need to remark on it at least once. 

"Better than any porn I've ever seen," Niall says, and Harry shudders, wonders if Niall can feel the throb of Harry's cock in his hand.

Niall touches his thumb to Harry's lips. The hand he's still got pressed against Harry's back feels scorchingly hot.

"You wanna come?" Niall says. Fuck, he has no idea.

Harry lets out a strangled " _mmf—_ " when Niall starts jerking him off, slow and careful to keep his cock steady. The roughness of his guitar calluses is startling after the softness of Harry's mouth, almost too much.

Harry's groaning, now, wide-eyed and frantic, unwilling to take his mouth off his cock even though his heart is pounding and he's not getting quite enough air. He doesn't think if he could get away he wanted to, with Niall keeping him folded up like this, knows even if he tried to turn away it'd just drag across his cheek. The thought makes his cock twitch and leak precome onto his tongue, and feeling it like that, tasting it, everything so close and humid and overwhelming, is so hot that he can't stand it. It makes him sloppy and desperate to come, spit dripping down the side of his mouth, eyes tearing up.

"Fuck," Niall says again. "Christ, Harry. You're so close, aren't you? Gonna swallow it all?"

Harry wasn't really planning on it, because it's already hard to breathe in this position and that seems like a choking hazard if there ever was one. He wants it now, though, can't bring himself to care, and finds himself trying to nod without dislodging his cock.

He can feel Niall's hand speed up as he sucks hard at the head of his cock, a long moment of pleasure that crests suddenly, even sooner than Harry was expecting.

He jerks a bit as he comes, gasps and digs his fingers into the meat of his thighs. He manages to catch the first little bit of it on his tongue and then loses it, shoots the second pulse messy across his lips. Niall catches his eyes, grips and angles his cock so he can fit his mouth back over it and get the rest.

He feels a bit dizzy as he comes down, remembers to swallow before he takes in huge gulping breaths, cock dragging sticky over his bottom lip. Niall keeps a steadying hand on his hip as he lowers himself back down to lie boneless on the bed.

"Good?" Niall asks.

"Thank you," Harry breathes. "Thank you."

\--

"Niall," he says very seriously, about ten minutes later, idly licking the last traces of Niall's come from between his fingers. "What the hell would you have done if, like, it turned out I actually couldn't do it?" 

"Dunno. Didn't really think that far ahead. Sucked you off myself, I reckon. Sixty-nine?"

"Oh," Harry says. "How soon can you go again?"

"After a few Sun Salutations, maybe?" Niall says. "And the rest of your breakfast."

"Deal," Harry says.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely come bother me on [tumblr](http://songsfrombus1.tumblr.com) if you wanna!


End file.
